Harlow had suffered through a boring law degree, before realizing she wanted to be an executive assistant. She loved organizing, solving problems, juggling issues, and finding effective, efficient solutions. She thrived on it and it fed her soul.

She’d been organizing her family for as long as she could remember. As a teenager, she’d helped her father with his work as a side job. And her sister was ten years younger than Harlow, so she’d helped her mother a lot when the new baby had arrived.

When she’d first told her father that she wasn’t going to practice law, he’d lost it. “No child of mine will be a lowly assistant.”

Harlow snorted. She was well aware good assistants kept the business world running. Her father’s included.

The elevator slowed and she straightened her shoulders. She knew a brilliant executive assistant was worth their weight in gold. She was well-paid, and that helped with her ultimate goal—buying her own house.

She felt a giddy little feeling. Harlow wanted to own a lovely San Francisco home all of her own. She wanted to renovate. Decorate. She was a closet reno-show addict. She had a burning need to knock down some walls and gut some bathrooms.

She grinned to herself.

She was so good at her job that she had earned the dubious prize of working for Easton for the foreseeable future.

The elevator doors opened. The main office level was shadowed, the lights on low. Pushing worry for her dad away, she strode forward. She’d pin him down eventually.

The carpet muffled the sound of her steps. There were lights on in Easton’s office.

Maybe the man was part machine?

She passed her own desk. It was exactly how she’d left it several hours earlier. Mostly clear, with a few neat, organized piles.

She paused in the doorway.

Against her will, her belly tightened. The man might be a tyrant, but she was female enough to admit he was a mouthwatering one.

Especially like this.

Usually, Easton wore perfectly tailored suits. He was always pressed, looking gorgeous and intimidating.

Right now, he was in off mode. Or as off as he got.

His dark suit jacket hung over the back of his executive desk chair. He still wore the white shirt he’d had on today, but now the sleeves were rolled up, and the top two buttons were undone. All of that revealed the ink that was usually kept hidden.

Harlow’s pulse skipped a beat, her mouth suddenly dry. Intricate, black designs coiled around his muscled forearms, and there was the hint of more on his chest.

Oh, no. No. No. No. She wasn’t giving this any air time.

For now, Easton Norcross was her boss. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, entertain any attraction to him.

She hadn’t made a noise, but his head lifted. Instincts honed from his time in the military.